


For those that wait in the rain

by Suzuranao (IamLurking)



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Blood Drinking, LB3 Spoilers, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Poisoning, brief descriptions of violence, loss of memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:15:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28084551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamLurking/pseuds/Suzuranao
Summary: He who saw all, who was the foundation of the land, who knew everything and was wise in all matters.But knowing all does not mean he remembers.—Gilgamesh is summoned into the idyllic, stagnant world of the third Lostbelt his master tackles in an effort to save his life.
Relationships: Gilgamesh | Archer/Fujimaru Ritsuka
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	For those that wait in the rain

**Author's Note:**

> BGM:   
> https://youtu.be/R520kaU7dRU  
> https://youtu.be/8ybGJ4QT6vA

His chest aches, burning with the strain that transferring energy does to servants. It feels like he’s back in the first singularities, heaving and gasping after Mash engaged in a single fight.

After so long he was able to sustain multiple servants and at least one or two particularly heavy noble phantasms, his endurance had certainly grown to a respectable amount, even if it meant using his energy rather than magic-but that was why the mystic codes handled the conversion.

But this poison feels as if someone had poked a hole at the bottom of the barrel that grows larger and larger the more its contents trickle out. He can’t catch his breath quite fast enough in battle, limbs aching, always not quite on the edge of giving out and refusing to move. It is only because Ritsuka is too experienced in such situations, ceasing to think and forcing his body to move on auto-pilot that he can even maintain this facade of normalcy during battle.

Even now as they stand still after battle, his limbs heavy and his mood three meters underground, watching the destroyed carcasses of those gaudy tanks, all he can think of is of taking just 10 steps more. 

10 steps at a time. How pitiful, but it was something.

Suddenly, however it seems a step is unreachable even in his dreams.

The briefcase burns hot, too hot, summoning spirits into being once more, when Ritsuka is tired, unable to recover as more energy trickles out of his being. 

“Master! Hang in there!”

Mash calls out to him as his knees buckle, but it’s no use, it’s too much, he will be sucked dry before she can reach him.

His chest hurts with the strain and he brings a hand to it, twisting fingers into fabric right above his heart-as a stream of colors blurs his vision. The briefcase emits a white glow, then golden and finally the summoning event distorts space, the beams of light scatter into multicolored rainbow beams that bounce off against every single surface, creating a visual loop when they hit the gold of the scrap metal that surrounds them.

His head is filled with an absurd amount of pride the next moment, so foreign he pushes it out of his mind immediately, locking close the bond out of self preservation. And then stops, lifting his eyes up as the space disortion ceases to be and a figure steps out of it into the blinding midday sun.

“It’s too bad, your luck seems to have run out just now.”

That voice-

“King Gilgamesh!?”

Mash beats him to it, voice trembling and confirming with his own eyes.

The sun reflects painfully on his full suit of armor, but those arrogant eyes and the great weight of pride in his mind are unique. There is no mistaking the identity of the new servant in front of him.

“Why-“

His entire world goes black.

* * *

It was not master who had opened the door to the throne of heroes. That plea was a child’s voice. But when he follows the echo in curiosity, it is that human’s soul which he found, an inexorable anchor within them he can’t help but follow it to materialization.

The pieces of scrap metal around them did not count. The alloy may have looked like the real thing but it was a byproduct of misguided aesthetics without sacrificing too much the integrity of the hulls.

As Master’s knees give out, Gilgamesh catches him before he could eat a faceful of dirt. Severe energy depletion, something in his blood that affected his recovery rate, Archer does not need to be a healer to know his summoning was the last straw rather  than the cause of his collapse.

There was no snake skin in his posession, no clay tablets, not even a decently sizeable amount of gold in the electronics that made up the tanks around them. There was only a finely engineered outfit in posession of his master and two command seals bright against too pale skin.

So what had been the anchor to bring him to this land?

_ The body in his arms was too thin- _

“Are you so desperate for firepower you needed to call upon me? You seem to be holding out just fine.” His gaze is nonchalant, sweeping over the wreckage with ambivalence.

The little girl servant speaks up, complicated smile on her face, eyes shifting down to the unconscious master in his arms before looking back at him.

“Actually...Master didn’t call you goldie. We thought the people of this Lostbelt had already summoned the servants it needed.” She gestures with a nod towards a servant in white robes with glasses...and a horse man. 

It’s an oddity enough to see such a mismatched centaur he actually stares for a few seconds before turning back to the servant. Beside her the pink haired...oddity seems wrecked with worry, wanting to get closer and look out for the young man in his arms. 

The briefcase is no grail, thus the information he received upon arrival is incomplete in comparison. It is enough to give him a brief overview of what happened before however, turning his head towards Xianyang, unable to see just yet the buildings that comprised their goal.

There is no way to accidentally summon a servant-at least to use the energy to do so. Even in the event of a grail war with empty spots, they’re perfunctorily filled with half-baked candidates and the closest thing to a catalyst in their presence but no servant materializes on their own without a specific power source.

This is not a grail war. And he was also not summoned with the leylines reacting to the pleas of the humanity of this frankly empty world.

And yet, here he is, with terrible odds against them, where the fight was not to win and reclaim that which was once his, but fight for survival and assert their right to be the ones to continue tomorrow.

How nostalgic.

* * *

“Will they not die anyways?”

_ “Archer.” _

“Hmph, you’re too soft mongrel.” With a scoff, the portal beside his head closes and Mash sighs in relief.

This was not the king Gilgamesh they knew, not even the Archer self that had resided in Chaldea before. 

They knew that servants keeping their memories was a possibility rather than a certainty even with the information of the briefcase...but this still was a blow to Master’s psyche even if he didn’t show it.

Mash could feel it in the way he refused to look towards the golden servant, hear it in the way he spoke to him.

He’d never once called him by his class before, but now it was the only way he referred to him.

Him...out of all servants. 

She glances to the young man beside her, clutching his chest as if in pain-but it is not that which he tries to reach, not while his wrist is empty and bare save for a pair of black gloves.

Qin Liangyu finally returns with reinforcements once the last of the civilians evacuate, nausea climbing as guilt fills her with every word that comes out from the Chinese soldier.

Mash takes a deep breath, not quite managing to steady her trembling limbs but nonetheless preparing her shield. Their sins were too many to count, but as his servant it was her duty to help Master shoulder the load and stand at his side.

* * *

“Master. We are almost. There. Please. Hang on.”

Even the stilted quality of the lancer’s speech betrayed worry, as they hovered cautiously around him, stopped by the outstretched palm of their master currently puking his empty stomach out. 

Half of their cheek was caved in because of a perfectly aimed blow by that old man and heroic spirit or not, the body the prince was called into followed the specifics of their legend-a machine in human form. It was a blessing in disguise as it didn’t quite affect them like it would others, even if some of the electronics were exposed to the open air now.

Grudgingly, Gilgamesh would even be impressed that was the extent of it, having received a few punches from the old man as well. 

There were  _ dents _ in his armor.

Even in this failed branch of history he found himself slightly vindicated with his choice in the end.

“...I’m better now. Thanks.” Master wipes away their hand and it is not command seals what tint the back of his hand red.

Gilgamesh narrows his eyes, calculating. He didn’t consume as much energy as the other servants due being an archer-and there were those two that were rogue. But there were other three servants under his command, even if the demi-servant was quite cost efficient after usurping a body.

That fool Kirei had at least ten times as much magical energy as the young man that was his master now, and even he hadn’t let him loose even half of what this brat had been forced to before being reborn temporarily.

His gaze travels through each companion and servant of his, smiling as if to placate their worries-until it reaches him. Gilgamesh only gets a nod, an all too serious face before that brat’s gaze quickly turns away, clutching his chest in pain and trying not to hobble as he walks ahead once more.

Gilgamesh brushes it off. He does not need to be wanted to do what needs to be done.

* * *

“Da Vinci, what’s the height?”

“4520 Kilometers up to the core! The branches haven’t finished unfurling yet, hurry!”

Taller than Mt. Ebih, more menacing than the pressure that bull, that the full depths the waters of the underworld had on his head while frantically scrabbling at the bottom sand.

No, not bigger. Different. Something not of this world.

Such understatement is the only thing that echoes in his mind for half a second before quickly pulled into action by the raspy yell of that brat.

“Archer! We’re going up!” 

The emperor aids them to stay afloat and tank some hits of that...amalgalm. As much as he loathes to admit it, their help is appreciated. The tree pursues them with a vengeance, going for wide sweeps when it cannot focus on one person and trying to snipe them out if they stay in place too long. Inevitably, it tries to snipe Master the most, barely able to roll out of the way without coughing his lungs out in between commands.

The layers of curses accumulate, turning muscles to lead the longer this fight drags on even if the core is now exposed after painstakingly peeling off the bark with a few lucky hits of that Saber’s noble phantasm.

But that human is about to burn out from the poison and exertion and he knows it. 

Because the bond between them has been suddenly opened for the first time since his summons and Gilgamesh faces himself with a deluge of pain, enough to stiffen and slide his foot open to stabilize himself.

_ ‘You. Please.’  _

He  _ knows _ the thoughts rather than hears them, watches the situation unfold instead of listening to unspoken words. It is not the burn of another’s lungs what forms a lump in his throat but the undercurrent of desperation, of grief and fear that echoes unnaturally in his saint graph. 

“...pffft-hahahahahaha!”

Gilgamesh laughs loud and clear instead, a wide smirk stretching around bloodied lips as he lazily looks down upon the brat, who has frozen in place, mouth hanging half open and looking stunned out of his mind.

It’s a bold, reckless plan but they abandoned the posibility of going through the wide path since the moment they entered the palace. Besides, it does have a good chance of succeeding and the lone crimson diamond on the back of their master’s wrist is not the only reason it might.

_ Very well. I shall unlock the key to my treasury. _

The moment a different portal appears beside his shoulder, everything springs into action.

_ We’re almost there, only a hundred steps to go. _

“Loading internal heat impactors! Target acquired!” That demi-servant is in place, following the fleeting blueprint imprinted in his mind as his hand reaches for a key in the depths of his treasury. He pulls it out, only for the key to vanish and the hilt of a blood red sword emerge from the same portal.

_ Don’t mess it up, mongrel. _

“Evade Mash!”

He didn’t, the servant kiting away the attack by just a hairsbreadth at all times as she uses the shield to slide away, conveniently exposing the core right in front of him. The human leaps to his left side, right hand on Gilgamesh’s shoulder, the other steadying a trembling arm as his voice rings out clear and loud over the cacophony of energy around them.

“By the power of my command seal, I order you to defeat the tree of emptiness, Gilgamesh!”

It’s a rush of exhilaration and energy what courses through his veins, enabling him to pull out effortlessly the rest of the sword from the portal as interlocking segments rotating faster and faster to cover them both in a cloud of energy as it gathers at the tip.

_ ‘elements coalesce-‘ _

It is not he who thinks the invocation in that moment, a clear voice echoing in his mind as words imprinted in his being are spoken by someone else, uncaring of the still open bond as they’re chanted akin a personal prayer, as the last scraps of energy are transferred by the human in a last ditch effort directly through him.

‘ _ And bring forth the star-‘ _

Somehow, it is that which echoes in his veins louder than the relentless compulsion of the order in his graph.

The amalgamate screeches in otherworldly anger and terror, having recognized the ruse for what it was and tries to focus on Master to snipe him off. But it is too late, the remnants of the three seals nothing more than faint scarring in the back of his hand now and the last of the magical energy leaves his gloves to be absorbed by the servant.

_ ‘-that which interweaves all-’ _

The human does not run, even as terrible energy swirls around them. As if he trusted Gilgamesh to not hurt him in the midst of unworldly power as this, and he cannot help but be entertained by the reckless tendencies of the brat. So he wraps his left arm around the human’s waist, bringing him close to his side as he anticipates the shockwave that would toss him like a ragdoll otherwise.

If Gilgamesh were to look down he’d find a pair of wide blue eyes, staring directly at him in awe before forcefully dragging themselves to gaze once more at the enemy.

He swings his arm instead.

“Enuma Elish!”

* * *

Despite taking the antidote, the poison damage to the humans had been extensive. That loud excuse for a director had it much worse, confined a couple of weeks to bed rest as they tried to heal his insides without too much tinkering-not much of a medical personnel in this facility.

The brat on the other hand had cut his down to a few days after some arguing-he definitely was much better even with all the internal damage that left his mouth perpetually crimson right at the end. 

The master could barely walk by himself at the end of it, dragging himself through sheer will and refusing to take the help of any of their servants-until that antidote appeared as a grudging gift before they left.

...he’d received naught but a small gesture of thanks and a closed bond by the time the tree finished collapsing, his master hesitating but finally peeling himself away from Gilgamesh, pointedly avoiding his gaze beyond what was necessary as the Emperor sent them off. 

Of course he did not expect a lavish parade thrown in his honor (or theirs, he wasn’t picky), these people could barely manage to feed themselves and patch their equipment with scraps. Celebrations made without resources would only make him a tyrant and he had no qualms on playing the part most of the time. But as life only thrived in adversity, too much of it would only suffocate it like the undying glare of a harsh sun on withered thirsty crops.

Just as there was too much adversity, what was needed of him a way to balance the scales. For what other reason could he have been summoned?

“...” 

Gilgamesh boredly glances towards the door, hearing the steps echo through the corridor before they stop in front of it. Only a slight hesitation before a muffled voice rings through the walls.

“Can I come in, Archer?” Soft spoken but determined. What could possibly want this brat from him? He’s made very clear he has no interest in Gilgamesh outside battle.

The door opens automatically with a snap of his fingers, and the reason for his visit becomes clear instantly, carefully held in the human’s arms as he steps in, depositing it on the table.

Magical materials.

A blade must be kept sharp at all times for maximum efficiency, even if you were strong enough and beat someone to death with a wooden spoon.

He’s ready to absorb them-when his eyes catch on the pale complexion, too pale for someone who was trespassing endless fields just a week ago. Archer snaps his fingers instead and the materials disappear by means of a portal. A finely woven linen cloth takes its place on the table, edges threaded in fine spun gold thread, the exquisite embroidery something that would stand out even in the midst of a pile of his treasures, anything else not worth comparing in such a sterile, standard room.

“ _ A cup of beer, from the summer harvest.” _

His voice comes out in a lilting rhythm, not quite a song, a gentle curve in his lips as he enjoys the surprised expression on that brat’s face when a gold cup full of amber liquid materializes, the fragrant scent of alcohol immediately filling the room. He’s still somewhat unresponsive by the time Archer has finished taking a swig, tongue peeking out to lap a stray drop at the corner of his lips.

“The energy required for me to improve my core comes from you, not from the building that maintains my form for now. I won’t have you collapsing again because I will not pick you up a second time. Now, eat.”

The brat looks at the cloth as if it threatened to bite him, before he attempts to mimic the soft lilt Gilgamesh used to request before. A steaming plate of what seems to be noodles and rice appears immediately, a pair of chopsticks made of fine, polished wood beside it. He only picks them up, yet hesitating as he has a portion lifted, looking at Gilgamesh once and back to the food.

Archer leans in and steals the bite hovering in mid-air instead, to the wide-eyed surprise of the brat.

Savory, sweet and sour. Not bad.

“What are you waiting for? If i wanted to poison you with this, my treasure would be irrevocably tainted. Don’t think so highly of yourself, mongrel.”

It seems to do the job, as the master picks up another bite tentatively and promptly his reticence disappears, devouring the food with ease and barely glancing up as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his haste.

Gilgamesh pretends not to notice the tears that overflow at the corner of those blue eyes as he continues to eat in silence. 

“...thank you for the meal, Archer.”

The servant says nothing, and drinks another sip from his beer instead.

The next time Ritsuka sees him, fabric dyed a rich red has joined his usual armor ensemble.

* * *

Their previous meeting seems to have been a wakeup call for the master in some aspects. Still a forced workaholic-but who else isn’t in this gigantic facility? Even his aid has been requested more than once to survey some inner workings, there aren’t many left to understand constructs from the age of gods after all.

In exchange he is practically left to his own devices the rest of time, already put to use by making this pitiful box something more livable. The bed of course had to go-even a stack of coarse hay was softer than the rock they expected him to use.

It is lounging on the mass of pillows that occupies the previously free space that the brat finds him next time, a cup in hand and a tablet on the other, satisfying his curiosity by accessing records compromised the last time he helped survey some of the digital guts of this building.

With a bored glance he closes the door behind the brat, who is still standing there like he doesn’t quite believe what he sees.

“If you dare intrude, have the decency to make your claim for time known.”

It’s enough to break him out of whatever thoughts kept him occupied, coming closer with things Archer is familiar with-magical materials. His graph was much more stable compared to his initial summoning, and of course he would never reject tribute to his person.

To his credit he doesn’t stop this time, kneeling closer to him on the border of the rug that peeks underneath the vast swathes of fabric and filling. It’s a pitifully short amount of time for proper recovery-but at least he doesn’t look like he hasn’t slept in 5 days, or that he might keel over after Gilgamesh has integrated the materials into his graph.

The process is seamless, though by the end Gilgamesh doesn’t feel stronger even if much more stable. Perhaps next time he’ll get a breakthrough depending on the quality of tribute. 

“Is the kitchen so poorly stocked you must covet my drink?”

The brat kept staring at his cup, unconsciously by the sudden quality of his startle, eyes growing wide and hands quickly adding to the caught in the act picture, silencing his protests the moment Archer laughs long and loud.

“You have paid your dues mongrel, don’t be shy and take what you desire now.”

“No, it’s not that-I can’t drink yet...” Master turns slightly red, perhaps from being caught in the act but doesn’t escape yet as he has done the previous times he’s felt threatened, enough to incite the servant and poke some more fun.

“Underage? Do you seriously think there is some kind of leadership left that will oppose to the Master of Chaldea indulging himself?” 

The young man looks like a fish, opening and closing his mouth devoid of words, before looking away once more.

“Hmph, how boring.”

He wasn’t planning on sharing on the first place-at least not this kind of drink. Some very angry Riders and Ruler would hang him if he got him drunk with a sip so Gilgamesh polishes off what’s left in a deep tilt of his head. 

He doesn’t need looking to know that brat is staring intently at him with utmost attention, as if he couldn’t bear to miss a moment of what goes on in that particular instant.

It has been too long since he’s had such a gaze upon him in that way, but unlike that pitiful goddess he hides away those desires by looking away when Gilgamesh puts down the cup. Master suddenly stiffens and brings a hand to his chest, looking somewhat in pain, bringing a slight frown to Gilgamesh’s lips. Wasn’t he proclaimed healed already?

“If you aren’t fully healed, don’t put on false airs. I will not be there to save you a third time.” 

Gilgamesh pauses, was it not a second time, counting the first during his summoning collapse?

Before he can continue musing on it, he’s interrupted by master who stands up rather quickly.

“I’m fine...It’s not a physical injury anymore.” 

Tch. So the poison had left him riddled with phantom pains. Considering the mournful look that the director had when looking at the fridge perhaps it was a small mercy.

His lips had been crimson by the end of it after all.

“I apologize for taking up your time Archer. I’ll be going.” The brat only bows and leaves in a hurry, just as he always does during these little talks. In just a few seconds there is only the gentle hum of machinery and the quiet din of portals opening to safeguard his treasures inside the vault once more.

“...selfishness is a human quality, not a flaw, young master of Chaldea. You’d best learn it soon.”

* * *

Gilgamesh anticipates the arrival of the little human three hours before Ritsuka even gives in the idea. Pitifully predictable, but just as he (loosely) keeps track of his own treasures, he knows of the quantity that lingers within the walls of this building. He could’ve been fully strengthened the moment he took a step inside the Wandering Sea.

Almost one week exactly, down to the minute. Late evening, almost night when daily duties and maintenance were done, when everyone has already had dinner and there could possibly be nobody to interrupt him.

Nobody but a young human master, carrying in his arms golden treasures sure to enhance his graph and kickstart an ascension.

The small talk grates on his nerves, eyes frosting over in disdain the more that brat tries to reign in his thoughts. Gilgamesh might not know the exact contents but he’s versed well enough in petty bureocracy to know when someone’s mouth is telling a different story in fear of angering him.

“Well, at least this time there’s no reason to sneak out, like that time with the dragon hoard-“

The smile is suddenly frozen on the human’s face, posture rigid as his eyes betray a small sense of panic. Gilgamesh is  _ mostly _ past being angered by ghosts and thus brushes it off. It is the first time he’s told not just the general details of small talk but lingered in the small, unimportant and yet equally precious of daily life. Previous life if he’s to be exact.

It’s enough to thaw some of his anger, fully bathing in the pettiness as his master seems to have stuck a foot inside his mouth and remembered something he believes best to be left buried unremembered.

“How boring would it be if you couldn’t break rules once in a while.” He only agrees, twirling the cup of wine around his fingers as the human tries to compose himself together.

Icy anger makes him narrow his eyes again, little by little, as the tale is cut short and the human stumbles upon finishing it as fast as he can before standing up and all but scampering in an escape towards the door.

“I’ve taken up too much of your time Archer, I’ll leave you to rest-“

“Why do you insist in bringing these things to me in the first place? I’ve no doubt you could toss it to that Rider and have it be seamlessly distributed without sullying your time with my presence.”

“...It’s my responsibility.”

The brat quickly walks away, escaping as Gilgamesh speaks, pressing the panel to open the door and try to escape in time.

“Keeping around such an unwanted figure out of misplaced sense of duty? I care not for the waste of my time in such means.” 

The words that left those lips were ice cold, though paled to the intensity of anger that those ruby eyes held to the back of the master. It works to stop him, hand lingering on the doorframe, shoulders hunched in stress suddenly dropping-no, straightening out. 

"Unwanted…I see.”

“Do not attempt to offer me excuses, mongrel. I’d rather you be open about your disdain towards me than this facade of civility.”

“Yes, you are right, Archer. I don’t want you here.” The human turns around, a tinge of desperation in his eyes as he walks closer to the servant, a stream of words punctuated with each purposeful step.

Ritsuka does not stop walking, that particular brand of determination present in every single line of action, down to the tips of burnt, scarred fingers-not until he’s barely a step away, looking up at the taller servant. Gilgamesh arches a single eyebrow, anger dissipating in favor of interest. 

“Would you desire to be subject to that which you yearn for the most and know it is beyond your reach for every single moment onwards, Archer?”

This fool had no outward selfishness at first, something painfully aware from the first few moments of observation. But that only meant the pit of yearning inside him was void-deep; he was no saint to be able to cast those desires away so easily.

Gilgamesh had answered to the strong pull of want, someone all but crying out for help-his help in specific, heard his name in between the silent spaces of the summoning call. 

It did not ask for his power, as other idiots who’d summoned him before conveyed through the call. Even with a large offering of power and the most exquisite catalyst, a heroic spirit could always reject it if they deemed their summoner unfit. Of course most simply answered the call regardless of master and decided to slay them if unworthy once incarnated.

But despite being a terrible mage, an average human...Gilgamesh had never felt them lacking as a master, not since that single moment when the call echoed in his corner of the throne and the graph that composed his entire being answered without hesitation. 

From the moment it observed that human’s soul, he’d reached over to seal the contract, it hadn’t stopped to gauge if the offering was properly lavish, or the quality of the master. 

It was vexing enough for him to consider more than once wiping the source of those useless queries in his mind.

“If I desire something, what would you suppose I’d do?” Dripping with sarcasm, answering a question with a question. The human’s mouth is pressed in a thin line, finally looking away from his eyes to gaze below his chest. His eyes almost burn a hole in the left side of his torso, right below where his lung should be-too specific to be coincidental, before looking again at him.

The determination morphed into desperation at some point, lips trembling with the effort of swallowing words unspoken, refusing to speak either an answer or a rebuke to his question. 

“Answer me, insolent master.” His wrist shoots out and grasps Ritsuka’s jaw painfully, harsh edges of metal digging into skin and liable to leave welts after. 

“E-even if it was beyond your reach you’d still lay claim to it, Archer.” The human practically spits each word, pain in his expression.

Whether from his grip or the realization he was not a ghost, he cared not.

“That's right. I’d have thought someone like you, who thrives in extremely unfavorable odds, would’ve realized by now.”

Gilgamesh makes a motion to remove his hand, when the human grasps his wrist instead, attempting to keep it there. He’s not even mildly insulted, blond eyebrow arching gracefully in question as tightens his grip ever so slightly, conflict radiating in thick waves they taste bland on Archer’s tongue.

“What do you think you are doing, mongrel?”

Master does not answer at first, lips twitching with words that swirl loudest in their bond but refuse to be spit out. Gilgamesh believes himself to be patient when the result yielded is perhaps worth it, and forcing open their connection to understand more than faded, unintellegible whispers would just suck the fun out of it.

So he waits, until those lips finally part open and words toss out in an almost deluge.

“You...you asked me why I would keep you around if you are so unwanted, your highness. It’s not that I despise you, even if I can't bear to have you near.” 

Ritsuka hasn’t taken off his eyes for a single moment, blue becoming icy and focused with unparalelled desire that is human will, unlike the placating creature that skulked around the hallways and fields most of the time; more like the man that dragged him into existence even as pieces of his lungs came out whenever he thought nobody watched-

_ There it is. _

“But do you know what you are asking for, Archer? Are you prepared to have a weak, simple minded human impose their desires on you?”

Master actually pulls on his hand, pressing the golden metal back to his cheek and actually leans in the cool, hard and unyielding touch.

There is only silence for the longest moments, and Gilgamesh knows those are not empty words. It is a strange thing, to look upon every restless line in the human and know it to be yearning-much different from the brash advances of that terrible goddess. She was never known for restraint after all.

“....pffft-hahahahaha!”

It’s no use though, he can’t help but laugh. 

“Do you forget who I am, master? Do you sincerely believe a king incapable of attending to the simple, selfish desires of a single human?”

To his credit the human master isn’t offended, as if he’d expected such answers from Archer. Or such mocking at the very least; it’s interesting and irksome at the same time, such unique reactions that separate him from the rest of the mindless flock that no longer existed he supposes.

Though he cares not being compared to another version of himself, even if it is only to anticipate his character and actions to make the unavoidable collaboration succeed when it came to try and survive.

“I knew i should have worded that better.” It’s a low whisper, but quickly overwritten before Gilgamesh can do more than slightly tilt his head to the side.

“It’s not a question of your capabilities...but rather if you’d accept taking on such things.”

A choice hm? How foolish. 

So, so foolish.

And yet-

“What self respecting ruler evades duties unknown to them? Though...considering those things are still intact your foolishness speaks for itself.” 

Indeed, older, more experienced masters before hadn’t used seals out of fear and respect out of him until it was critical in battle. Ritsuka hadn’t either until the very last moment-but his reluctance to use such things wasn’t from a foolish attempt to stay in his graces. 

Master’s face is blatantly painted with transparent yearning now, even if his words walk a thin line between vulnerability and fearlessness.

“Then, are you really sure of this, my king? I will not let go a third time.”

Ruby eyes narrow in almost indignation as the presence of ghosts makes itself known once more-

_ My king. _

It echoes in his saint graph, smothering the flames of anger down to smoldering embers. 

He wishes to wrap gold-clad fingers around his throat so it cannot come out again.

He wishes to hear it once more.

He leans in instead until their noses almost touch each other, cataloguing every last shiver that runs through the human’s body as he exhales a heavy breath in their face, blue eyes falling half closed from the proximity.

“Then i look forward to seeing you try your best, Ritsuka Fujimaru.” 

Gilgamesh will not deny his thirst of curiosity-he’s not a good man after all.

* * *

A week again, almost to the minute once again. And once again a bundle of materials appears in the arms of his master-the last batch for his graph to be fully strengthened at least. Breaking through the limit would require a ridiculous powersource like that which powered that tree.

Or the Greater Grail. Unfortunately neither of which are in short supply right now.

It’s incredibly amusing to witness the immediate change that seems to have sprung overnight. Those thoughts and quips which the brat has kept inside in fear of angering him or reminding himself of a ghost are infinitely more deserving of his attention than the perfunctory show of respect before.

Insolence in small doses was the most amusing after all.

“I...i have a small request, my king.”

“Oh?” Immediately interested, he tilts his head in question, curious smile tugging at his lips when the young master all but squirms in place.

“That offer of your drink...i wonder if it’s still in place.”

“I thought you were too young.”

“Well, i did turn 20 a few months ago...but since i spent all that time in void space it felt it didn’t count.”

“...”

“...Also it’s easier to reject unwanted offers with that excuse.”

“Pffft!” Gilgamesh barely contains a snort, shoulders shaking with mirth at the statement.

Ah definitely not boring at all! 

“Then, for deceiving me before i have a price for you to pay.”

“What is it, my king?” He’s immediately attentive and dutiful, but also bracing himself for the worst. He hadn’t planned on teasing the poor brat too much-but in that moment he wondered how those two words would sound from heavy, drunken lips.

“I’m quite curious about your poison resistance you see.” He lifts an eyebrow at the dejected sigh the human does, has he shattered his expectations somehow?

“Despite being essential to living, alcohol is a poison in enough concentrations. I wonder how that little skill of yours would react to what is in my treasury.” His gauntlet makes a click as he snaps his fingers, opening three different portals right at the height of his shoulder.

“Consider this a test of your tolerance. One should always know their limits, otherwise the liveliest party inevitably turns into a disaster.”

“...Alright.”

Mixing different kinds of drinks is typically ill-advised for those unused to alcohol but if there is something Gilgamesh has learned in this short time is that his master will flee if left to breathe for more than a second. So first comes a particular vintage of sweet, chilled white wine. 

The bubbles pop deliciously on the tongue as he watches the other take a small sip of champagne to start, before taking a proper mouthful of the liquid, lips twisting as the taste spreads on his tongue before vanishing, leaving only the sweet bitterness of the starter at the back of his mouth.

It’s only the first from the endless parade of alcohol presented to the young man who predictably inches closer and closer unconsciously as Gilgamesh puts yet another drink on his hand.

“I do have to say, there are probably few beings who could keep up with you at this point. Your resistance is truly something to behold.”

It may be only a short glass of each new brew what he’s offered, but the amount of empty glasses would’ve filled half the room if tossed to a corner. Master laughs quite sadly, swishing the small porcelain cup that contains rice alcohol in his hand before drinking it wholly.

“It’s a bit disappointing...everyone said getting drunk would be fun but i guess i can’t even do that. It’s not that bad but...”

“So quick to give up brat?”

“No, i’ll still drink what you give me, but i’m not sure anything else would really work at this point.”

Gilgamesh hums, deep in thought before the perfect idea pops into his head. A single portal appears beside his snapped fingers, a gold tray with a pitcher on it. There is only one cup in that tray and Ritsuka is saved from wondering if to reach for it when Gilgamesh picks it up. 

Before anything else happens however, the servant takes a drink from the cup and swiftly leaning down, kissing Ritsuka the next moment. He swallows the offered drink with difficulty-stiffening and clinging to his servant’s bare shoulders as he leans back in surprise but Gilgamesh does not release him until he’s thoroughly stolen his breath in exchange.

The heady, rich aftertaste of beer and mana lingers on the back of his mouth deliciously, a pink tongue catching whatever might be left on his lips.

“Well?”

A deep sense of satisfaction forms in the pit of his stomach when he looks at dazed eyes and a flushed complexion, looking every bit as intoxicated as he should have twenty cups ago.

The look in his eyes changes in an instant, going from lost to hungry, licking his lips before speaking in an almost hoarse lilt.

“...I’m not sure. I think i need another taste.” 

Gilgamesh has been a terrible, terrible influence and he delights on it. Because this is not even something he carefully cultivated but something he knows now to have always been there-poor restrained master just needed some nudging to let loose.

“Another i see.” His voice curls in amusement, obliging the selfish request and taking another sip of fresh, high quality pale gold beer before capturing master’s lips again. He may be a tyrant, but he’s also a king and any king worth their salt knows when to reward his subjects handsomely.

The soft sound coming from Ritsuka as he slides his tongue in his mouth is incentive enough in its own way, a naked hand adorned in gold wrapping around his clothed waist and pulling his master flush against Gilgamesh’s chest. 

The servant can still smell the scent of soap coming from still damp locks of hair as his fingers run through black, his master pressing him deeper against the mountain of pillows and fabric that has become this corner of the room. Ritsuka scrabbles desperately against his skin, as if he could not decide which part of his loosely clothed body he wished to worship first. The servant makes it easy for him discarding the rest of his clothes with nary a gesture.

He shifts his legs wider, enough to nudge a clothed thigh and what lies above him and prompt a gasp. His master bows his head low, forehead resting on the dip of Gilgamesh’s clavicle as his breaths come in stuttering at the feeling of a leg insistently pressing against his crotch.

The servant runs down a finger on the middle of his master’s still clothed chest; though not for long as the young man all but tosses the fabric away to an unknown corner to be irredeemably wrinkled, obeying the demand before it is even spoken.

_ Much better. _

A testament to survival, he’s filled out in these few weeks of rest they’ve had, frame filling in with weight and recovered some muscle-definitely not a bad sight to behold atop him anytime soon. 

Gilgamesh is the sun and the rain that nourishes those low gasps-a gentle hitch of breath of someone unused to the sensations provided by another warm body against theirs, of experienced lips stealing what little breath he regains in short but intense bursts tinged with the rich and deep aftertaste of alcohol.

He’s not in the mood to teach the finer points to an inexperienced lover so this will have to suffice for his poor pent up master.

As for him? He’s not in a rush to wring out what he desires from him. If he’s to be honest, Gilgamesh is not quite sure what to do with the entirety of such a being in his hands beyond perfunctory fulfillment of his duties and relief of boredom. 

What he desires? Even murkier, enough to vex into almost anger each time his graph echoes with unspecified want. That is fine, even tyrants must have a modicum of patience once in a while.

“Gilgamesh…!” His name but a hushed prayer on those pink lips, the young master shudders as release wracks his frame in waves. Payment is due, and so the servant takes a particularly breathy sigh as cue to lower his mouth and fiercely bite a pale shoulder; mouth filling with the full, metallic taste of mana-rich blood, replenishing some of his energy with mouthfuls and swipes of a warm tongue that leave Ritsuka trembling and gasping, stuck between the painful sting of blunt teeth and the remnants of his orgasm.

He’s not bit deep enough to drink for more than a few mouthfuls, even as ruby red beads in the indents left by pearly white teeth. Energy depleted, the brat slowly lowers himself until he’s all but lying atop Gilgamesh. Still a tentative thing, until the servant widens the space between his legs for his master to fit in better-at which point Ritsuka promptly melts against his skin.

The question echoes in his head for a second too long before he decides to toss it. There is no better time to get honest answers than moments as these, when pleasure destroys whatever inhibition a person might’ve had.

“These things, did you do them with my other selves?”

“...No. I didn’t think i had time to pursue someone back then.”

“And now?”

Gilgamesh arches his brow as Ritsuka lets out a short laugh, the pad of a thumb tracing those red ink lines that typically disappear under gold.

“Time is still the least i have, but...I am tired of saying no. You will leave one day, even if you stick around to the end of this thing; but i’m tired of being afraid of the future.” 

Ritsuka’s eyes speak of him being taken far, far away even as he basks in the privilege of enjoying his king’s presence, so Gilgamesh does the logical thing and steals a kiss, biting harshly his lower lip and drawing fresh blood he licks right after-like the remnants of something delicious after taking a taste.

“Foolish human.” His words are a sigh, a statement lamenting rather than admonishing him. 

Of course Gilgamesh knows what it is to fear the end of things, even if being incarnated in this specific vessel means he knows it not on a personal but on an intellectual level, reading the memories beyond his physical age like a book he is only slightly familiar with.

Not even gods are eternal, and that is precisely why he has chosen mortality at the end of things. 

Someone so diametrically opposite to him being the one to push mortality to its limit, he does not think he has made the wrong choice.

* * *

Unfortunately things can be delayed no further after the tenth review and maintenance of that metal box, their equipment, even the individual graphs of those servants coming with them.

Their master will need to dive into yet another life-threatening venture just to fight for the right of existence. Gilgamesh has no doubt he will succeed; but if someone notices he lends his aid a bit longer than usual when poking around the guts of the building to fine tune last minute details, no one comments.

He has lingered for too long, bumping into Ritsuka in the middle of the hallway, human laden with a heavy enough box he huffs every few steps. His usual white jacket is discarded, leaving him in only a black shirt that exposes the full length of his arms down to the black gloves.

A flash of gold and blue catch his interest however, a new addition to his usual attire. A simple bracelet of intercalating segments of engraved gold and polished round lapis.

_ I see. _

“So that is how you did it.” Gilgamesh drawls, startling the human into a confused expression, before he follows his servant’s sight and looks down at the bracelet hanging prettily from his wrist.

“I...you recognize it?”

“Not particularly.” The human looks slightly crushed and a strange feeling incites him to continue before that face turns even more pitiful.

“However! I know the craftmanship intimately, and unless you managed to summon Dumzid or another spirit of my time i doubt there was any other way it came to be into your hands, but from being a gift from myself.”

Nobody but another king of Sumer would’ve had a treasury large enough embedded in their graph to pull it out either-even someone rich enough like that bothersome greedy goddess would’ve never given away such a treasure if that brat had managed to summon her somehow either.

Simple and elegant, enhancing the original user rather than overpowering their presence. Grudgingly he accepts he had indeed picked out the perfect gift for this bothersome master.

It matches his eyes perfectly.

“I’d always wondered how could someone like you, with no proper catalyst, no sizeable offering, not even a proper summoning circle, could’ve called me into existence.”

“Is-is that so?”

The words tumble absentmindedly, filling in the gaps automatically as his brain hasn’t quite seemed to have caught up yet. His lips pull into a deep smile, leaning in just enough to make his master feel the closeness in his skin-not quite touching, but enough for his breath to catch.

“Indeed. With this there is no doubt you’ll always be able to recall me into existence Ritsuka. I don’t have to tell you to take good care of it.”

With that he pulls away, strides long and cheerful as he resumes his aimless walk. 

It was not the fact that it was a treasure, nor the exquisite craftmanship reminiscent of of the time he was alive like all other possible catalysts shared. 

It was because it was something uniquely matched to his master, whose presence was strong enough it imprinted in his graph despite the lack of conscious remembrance. In the hands of another, it could very well summon another spirit, but not him.

With that beautiful bracelet hanging on the wrist of his foolish, too-sensible, stubborn master there is no way he will not answer the call.

Gilgamesh has no question about it.

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to Nona for fueling my late night discussions about how unfair is Ousama and putting up with me screeching about the newest scenes i’d written sdfsdfsdg
> 
> Writing this almost fully in Gil’s pov was...a ride to say the least. He’s probably the most complex character i’ve written and it was a PAIN to reconcile his selves across properties to try and make him justice, i still feel i didn’t quite manage it in this sobs
> 
> Anyways that bracelet? Search up Archer Gilgamesh’s CE’s in the wiki and you’ll understand if you haven’t.


End file.
